


There and Back Again

by Kayka



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Gen Fic, Humor, Male Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-03
Updated: 2012-11-03
Packaged: 2017-11-17 15:24:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayka/pseuds/Kayka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes was the ideal flatmate: he didn't keep up with films, and he was just narcissistic enough to believe that the paparazzi were for him, alone. Genfic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There and Back Again

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I have a great, big pile of things that are mine. I have an even greater, bigger pile of things that aren't. Sherlock belongs in the latter category, I'm afraid.
> 
> A/N: I had a weird little thought a while back. I finally went with it. So, here's a weird little story. Enjoy, hopefully.

This was big. He _had_ had in big roles before, but that was before he went into the service and put his long neglected medical skills to good use. And ages before he had an overly observant flatmate. Luckily for John Watson, Sherlock always missed something. Unfortunately, since Sherlock had missed this tidbit regarding his best friend’s past, John was in a bit of a less-than-good bind.

He had auditioned on a lark, not expecting to get the role- it had been quite some time since his last, and that particular film was not exactly a Hollywood blockbuster. It had been a cult classic, perhaps, but _this_ new role was _big_. In fact, it was _big-big_. If he accepted, he would be the star in the most speculated about and anticipated film of the year, the year next, and, most likely, even the year after that. The fact that he would be set financially went without mentioning.

This all naturally hinged on the, ‘if.’  

But it was not really a matter of, ‘if,’ any longer. John enthusiastically accepted before he spared the time to properly think his response through and with only the briefest consultation with his agent. John Watson was nothing, if not a sucker for an adventure, and this role promised a grand adventure, indeed.

Thus John found himself in his current predicament: how was he to explain moving to New Zealand for at least half a year to his flatmate?

The obvious answer was the truth, but John felt strangely reluctant to broach the subject with Sherlock. It was not as though his other acquaintances did not already know, but they each had learned of his acting career on their own and unaided by himself.

Mycroft figured it out first, of course, and John received a numerically emblazoned towel in the post. (Sherlock never commented on the appearance of this aberration in their linens, though he had to have noticed it. John rather liked that towel and had taken to using it with reliable frequency.)

With her keen eye for telly, Mrs. Hudson puzzled it out within the first several weeks of their acquaintanceship. (This ultimately served as the basis for the pair’s ‘crap-telly-and-sometimes-sitcoms-viewing-marathons’ for the duration of John’s unemployment.)

Lestrade tipped his hand some time later when he took to calling John ‘Sergeant.’ (Luckily, Sherlock had _seen_ , but not _observed_ the comical startlement on John’s face during the initial exchange, and had immediately dismissed it as being irrelevant to the deliciously interesting quintuple homicide at hand and had subsequently deleted this information altogether.)

Even Molly Hooper confronted John by his stage name after a long weekend of Christmastime chick flicks. (And _that_ particular realization had been a mite awkward for them both. He’d blushed just a bit remembering aspects of the role in question.)

The most disconcerting reverse-reveal, however, had been delivered to John’s surgery in the form of an unmarked parcel and contained a highly technical book on zombiefication. This was, as evidenced by the inscription on the interior, from an apparently amused James Moriarty. (He, thankfully, had not been amused enough to include Semtex in the bundle. Regardless, John was abnormally high-strung for the following week.)

Even with John’s occasionally queer behavior, Sherlock never bothered to deduce the cause and therefore never knew. Sherlock rarely ever watched their ancient set, and if he happened to take any notice of it, he immediately discarded any pop culture trivia he happened to pick up unless it was potentially case-worthy.

And if, perchance, the pair seemed to be accruing more paparazzi as of late, it was undoubtedly due to Sherlock’s rising fame as the world’s only consulting detective; his blogger didn’t even figure into that equation.

It was simultaneously John’s best kept and most public secret. It had not been an intentional oversight; they simply did not go into deep heart-to-hearts about their lives before they met.

It just felt odd and inexplicably nerve-wracking to bring the subject up now after knowing each other for so long. (Though, it may have partly been the ‘being gone for at least six months for filming’ bit that had John in a tizzy. There was no telling the mischief Sherlock could get himself into during that time span.)

John mentally role-played the coming conversation for hours. So, naturally, his carefully crafted dialogue was abandoned the minute he stumbled into their shared flat and found Sherlock stretched out on his couch, either in deep thought or deep sleep.

“I’m going to be moving to New Zealand for a few months, probably half the year at least,” John blurted in one breath, “for work.”

It wasn’t a lie, and he did not have to go into explaining his heretofore moderately (un?)successful acting career as well as why he had never mentioned it before. John was not overly surprised when this elicited no response from his friend. Sherlock did tend to take pronouncements he did not like and pretend they had never occurred. Or he actually was asleep, for once.

“Sherlock? Did you hear me? You _are_ awake aren’t you?”

“Of course I heard you. You’re going to Brighton on holiday.”

Then, there were those times that Sherlock took pronouncements he did not like and twisted them to something else, entirely.

“ _No_ , Sherlock. Halfway round the world, for the better part of a year. I’ve already said yes, and I was hoping we could discuss it like rational adults.”

A pair of stormy eyes popped open to glare at John. The effect was only slightly diminished by the fact that they were upside down from John’s vantage point.

“What’s there to discuss?” Sherlock asked airily before turning over toward the interior of the couch and pretending the world around him had ceased to exist.

And that was that.

* * *

 

The months and weeks leading up to John’s departure were spent normally enough. The pair solved a number of boring (to Sherlock) crimes, John gave his notice and finished up his work at the surgery, and Sherlock moodily ignored any of John’s efforts to talk about his impending trip. (As it turned out, Sherlock’s aversion to the topic was so extreme that John never had to clarify that the ‘work’ he would be doing was not of the medical variety.)

Then came the day John was to leave, and Sherlock had worked himself into a full sulk.

“Sherlock, dear, you really ought to go with us to see John off,” Mrs. Hudson admonished the genius.

Sherlock’s face soured as her words trickled into his consciousness and “case” was the only word he sneered before he resumed idly plucking the strings of his violin and dismissing reality in favor of slipping back to his mind-palace. (The fact that the case in question involved a nefarious hedgehog trafficking ring and was hardly pressing was of little consequence.)

Huffing a bit at his recalcitrance, the landlady left the boys to their goodbyes.

John rocked from heel to toe a time or two.

“So, this is it then…” He trailed off, feeling wretched. He stood awkwardly for a moment, “Well, goodbye for now, Sherlock.”

John had not been expecting a response, and was not overly disappointed when he did not receive one.

“I’ll call when I get there,” he tried again, as he started making his way out the door, “Do answer, please. And try to eat and sleep occasionally. I’m sure Mrs. Hudson will keep me appraised. I’ll be back before you know it.”

 Knowing better than to wait for any sort of acknowledgement from the consulting three-year-old at this point, John Watson shut the door behind himself and set off to share in an adventure.

* * *

 

When John reached his seat on the plane some time later, there was a book waiting for him. A first edition of the very book upon which his coming film was based. Upon closer inspection, he noted that it was a first edition book that had been _signed_ by the long dead author.

John flipped through the novel for clues as to the purveyor of this extravagance and was rewarded when a note comprised of familiar spidery handwriting fluttered to his lap.

‘A hobbit, John? Is this intended to be some sort of testament to your height? A pirate film would have been far more intriguing. Think it through next time.’

John’s face broke into a grin.

* * *

 

Sherlock Holmes waited the requisite amount of time after John Watson’s departure (Three minutes and fifty-four seconds) to ensure that he was quite alone at 221B Baker Street before allowing himself a smirk that would have appeared manic and fairly alarming had he any spectators. He sprung from his perch and set to action. He was not strictly needed for several more weeks, yet regardless, he had packing to do. No harm in being early; arriving when anticipated would likely result in permitting someone else to ruin his surprise.

John would be the star this time, but Sherlock wagered that he, himself, would make a wonderfully compelling villain- or two.

**Author's Note:**

> Movies/TV both obliquely and overtly referenced: The Hobbit, The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy, The Office (British version, of course), Hot Fuzz, Shaun of the Dead, and Love, Actually.
> 
> And that's all, folks!


End file.
